Antebellum
by hexxed quill
Summary: Not for the first time in his life, and most certainly not for the last, Cutler Beckett cursed Jack Sparrow seventhfold to the very deepest circle of hell.


**Well hello there! If you don't know me, Hi, I'm Hexx, and if you do...uh, sorry for being basically dead on the writing front.**

**Before we begin, just a few things.**

**1. This is Un-beta'd, so my sincerest apologies for any mistakes**

**2. This is supposed to be set way before COTBP, back when Jack was not yet branded as a pirate, although not long before.**

**3. POTC= Not mine. Not now, not ever. Belongs completely to disney, I just make the characters do embarrassing stuff**

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"_What mark did he leave on you?"_

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Lord Cutler Beckett had not always been a god-fearing man of the crown. Far from it, in fact. There was once a time where his only devotions to the Almighty had come as feverish screams during climax, and the only monarchy he served were that of hearts, clubs, spades and diamonds.

But then, who better to oversee the purging and conquering of a sinful world than one who themselves had sinned so appallingly? Kind knows kind, after all.

But his reasons for doing what he did ran a little deeper than just fear for his (probably doomed) soul and the promise of limitless prestige…

"_Jack!"_

"_That's Captain to you, Cuttlefish."_

"_Captain, I-"_

"_Shh…"_

_The scent of sweat and rum clung to the insides of Cutler's nostrils as his damp face was pressed deeper into the filthy bedding. Focusing half of his attention on breathing regularly, and the other half on the hot, dark form pressing into him on the tiny bed in some sleazy inn in some depraved port in an obscure part of the world, Cutler turned his head to the side and sucked in the stale air, letting it out with a hissing curse of pain and pleasure. There was a tutting sound from the body above him._

"_now now, there's no need for language like that." A calloused hand skimmed over his throbbing erection, and Cutler gasped. "If there is something you require, just …ask… nicely…"_

_Cutler gripped the pillow with both hands, rubbing himself shamelessly into the pirates feather-light touch, " ahh- Please, C-Captain," he wailed, the stillness almost killing him as he whined like a puppy._

_The other mans alcohol steeped breath whispered past his ear, felted dreadlocks hanging alongside his own sweaty blond locks. "yes?" murmured the brigand, "how may I help you?" Cutler could almost hear the snigger in his voice._

"_Harder! By all that's holy, Harder!" He screamed, unable to take the unresponsive hold any longer._

_Jack chuckled softly, rocking back on his knees to survey the naked, trembling young man prone before him in the murky half light. Cutler moaned and jerked upwards at the sudden emptiness, but Jack's strong hands kept him pressed down in a most undignified position. Not that it mattered, of course. Dignity had been thrown out of the window along with his undergarments hours ago. Jack ran his hands admiringly along Cutler's bare back, like a prospective buyer at a cattle market. His hands slick with sweat and spilled rum, they slid easily over the lily white surface of Cutler's back, each vertebrae in his spine sticking out slightly. Jack sat perfectly still for a moment, his sunburnt face a picture of preoccupied contemplation, then, with an abrasive growl, he dived forward and seized Cutler's hips before plunging himself to the hilt inside the smaller man. The tiny keening sounds Cutler had been making turned into ragged cries and breathless curses as Jack thrust into him roughly again and again, driving his face further into the flea infested sheets. A strong hand clasped his erection once again and stroked methodically. Cutler had five whole, heavenly seconds to enjoy this much needed attention, before Jack seized a handful of his hair and hauled him upright against his heaving chest. Kneeling in that position, jack hit a sweet spot inside him that sent Cutler's eyes rolling into his skull, and he made a guttural, animal noise deep in his throat as Jack's teeth found a pulse point on his neck. He was so close it was actually beginning to ache, and the stifling heat was making him dizzy. The pleasure was so intense that he barely heard the Sailors hoarse whisper,_

"_Say it again…"_

_Cutler gulped in a breath he didn't know he needed, and poured all his concentration into producing a coherent sound, " The…The ship is yours, Jack…Ahh… Y-you will be Captain!" and then, tossing his head back and uttering a multitude of curses he didn't realize he knew, he came. Hard. And after a couple more sharp thrusts and throaty grunts, Jack followed suit. The full weight of his body dropped, spent, onto Cutler's back and his face was once again shoved into the stained linen. They lay like that for an immeasurable amount of time, panting heavily. Cutler savoured the feel of Jack's skin against his own, of his lips pressed to his neck, storing every last millisecond away in the securest corner of his memory, for he knew what was coming next. Once his breathing had evened out, and the pounding of his heartbeat had slowed considerably, Jack dragged himself out of Cutler and off the bed. Cutler lay on his front with his head resting on folded arms and silently watched him stumble around the poorly lit room, pulling on various items of clothing in the order he found them. Neither of them said a word till Jack was fully dressed and dusting off his hat, which had fallen into the ashes at the edge of the unlit fireplace. Then he tottered blearily to the bedside, swiped up the half empty bottle of spiced rum from the little table, and clumsily patted Cutler's cheek. "Much obliged," he slurred with an uneven grin. Then he turned and staggered from the room, mumbling a drinking song under his breath. A heavy, stagnant silence was all that was left. Cutler didn't realize he was crying until he felt his hot tears drip onto the backs of his folded hands. He rolled onto his back, wincing slightly, and lay there waiting for the tears to stop flowing. But they didn't. How many times would they go through this well practised play-act before one of them either went mad or lost interest? How much longer would he have to go on telling himself he wouldn't miss it when it all ended. Because it would end, of that he had no doubt._

_Not for the first time in his life, and most certainly not for the last, Cutler Beckett cursed Jack Sparrow seventhfold to the very deepest circle of hell. _

_Fin._

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Well, there you have it. Reviews are greatly appreciated. Please don't kill me.


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